


Hold You Close

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom John, Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by Art, Kissing, M/M, Mind Palace, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Sherlock, Topping from the Bottom, post-reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though the fall is behind them, sometimes John needs a reminder that Sherlock is there. And truth be told, Sherlock needs it just as much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold You Close

**Author's Note:**

> Writen for this sweet and marvelous [piece of art](http://kriskenshin.tumblr.com/post/71481804411/john-hugs-me-when-im-in-my-mind-palace-i-dont) by kriskenshin.
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)

John sighed and looked across the room at the man lying out on the sofa. He was in deep think mode, he could tell, and had been since they’d arrived back at the flat late last night. John had staggered off to bed alone, and when he woke in the morning Sherlock was still where he’d flopped, a change of clothes the only indication that he’d moved.

Putting down his mug, he walked over. Sherlock could be a statue save the way his stomach rose and fell. His shirt had ridden up just enough to expose his belly button and he took a few moments to watch the gentle movements.  Normally he’d leave Sherlock alone, at least for a while, but the last few days had been times of battle and strife across the streets of London, and frankly he needed the touch.

Moving to the arm of the couch, John carefully wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s head, breathing in the scent of his hair, one hand buried in the curls, the other one reaching down to grab the t-shirt and just hold on, to remind himself the man was really here.

“John,” the sound of his name was soft, reverent, almost a prayer. Leaning down, he kissed him gently, slowly, holding the shirt a little tighter as if that would prevent them both from falling over the edge. Sherlock’s arms reached up and wrapped around his neck. John broke the kiss to move around. He stretched out on top of Sherlock and resumed kissing him slowly; worshiping his lips while Sherlock’s hands smoothed down his back.

“You are here,” said John at last, pulling back to looking into those pale eyes.

“I will never leave you again,” promised Sherlock, not for the first time, and not for the last.

John kissed him again, this time deepening the kiss, tongue slipping inside as his lover parted his mouth. He moaned softly, feeling Sherlock’s heart speeding up against his own.  His hand reached down and squeezed his arse and John smiled, tangling his hands in the curls, feeling the slender warmth beneath him.

This time it was Sherlock who pulled away. “You always get dressed too easily. First thing in the morning and you’ve got everything but shoes on.”

Chuckling, John knelt back between his calves and unbuttoned his jeans. “Old habit you know. Not much time for lollygagging around in your pyjamas in the army.” He pushed them down and off along with his socks, leaving himself in his pants.

Sherlock ran a hand up his thigh and squeezed his hip. “More’s the pity. I enjoy seeing you in your pants. Or less.”

“I know you do.” John pulled his shirt off as well, then tugged off Sherlock’s bottoms. “Not that you even bother with pants half the time.” This was one of them. He was half hard already, cock glistening with pre-cum.  Reaching down, John swiped a thumb along the head, making him moan.

John pulled off his own pants while Sherlock found the lube in the couch cushions. He straddled Sherlock’s waist and leaned down to kiss him again while he stroked his entrance slowly, warming the lube before pressing one long finger inside.

Groaning, John ground slowly against his cock, moving his head to mouth at Sherlock’s throat, tasting a hint of sweat from last night’s fight. This was what he needed, right here. Sherlock crooked his finger to hit his prostate and John swore as he clutched at his shoulders.

“I need you,” John said softly, moaning as another finger was added, opening him up as gently as Sherlock handled a bow or a delicate experiment.

“You were always with me,” he answered, taking John in hand and slowly stroking his length.

John shifted up while Sherlock used more lube on his own cock before lining up. With a contended sigh, John closed his eyes as he sank down, feeling himself spread open and filled in all the best ways. Sherlock’s hands were warm on his thighs as he guided him down. He knew without opening his eyes that he was being watching, and carefully, for any sign of stress of discomfort.

When he was fully seated he opened his eyes, meeting Sherlock’s with a smile. This was comfort and familiar, a dance they’d acted out more times than he could recall. Leaning down he kissed Sherlock again as they moved together. John’s hands rested on Sherlock’s shoulders for leverage; Sherlock’s hand stroked his cock.

Their bodies moved together in the same way their hearts beat in time, until it would have been nearly impossible to tell where one stopped and the other began. There was still a chasm of time there, but it was behind them and getting further every day. Picking up the dance again had been hard at first, but now, in moments like these, it was as if no time had passed at all.

Sherlock tensed underneath him. John kissed his chin, feeling his own orgasm starting to curl. “Go on, love,” he said.

With a moan, Sherlock filled him. John’s eye’s fell shut at the rush of warmth and the way his hands tightened on his thigh and his cock and then he was coming too, staining the t-shirt that had now ridden most of the way up his chest.

They lay quietly for long minutes, breath short, Sherlock's arms wrapped around John’s back, simply holding him close. He grew soft and slipped out, but they still didn’t move. John tucked his head under his chin, still holding his shoulders, not even minding the sticky mess.

Finally Sherlock kissed the top of his head. “As much as I would like to stay here the rest of the day, we do have work to do.”

“I know,” John raised his head and kissed him one more time. “I’ll clean you up so you can get back to thinking.”

“No, I do believe I have it now.” Sherlock shifted John onto his side and got up, padding to the bathroom and returning with a warm wet cloth. He leaned down and kissed his lover while he wiped them both up.

“Go on and make breakfast, I’ll text Lestrade.”

“All right.” John collected his clothes and dressed again, moving to the kitchen with a smile on his face, knowing that, at least for now, all was well.


End file.
